Andrea Pisano, S. John being laid in the tomb by his disciples, 1330

Andrea Pisano, Zacharias naming his son, 1330

In the first, Zacharias is represented as a venerable old man, writing at a table, near which stand a youth and two women, beautifully draped, and grouped into a composition whose antique simplicity of means shows how far Andrea had advanced beyond Niccola and Giovanni (Pisano), who could not tell a story without bringing in a crowd of figures. In the Burial of S. John we see a sarcophagus, placed beneath a gothic canopy, into which five disciples are lowering the dead body of their master, two at the shoulders (one of whom evidently sustains the whole weight of the corpse), and two at the feet, while a sorrowing youth holds up a portion of the winding-sheet; a monk, bearing a torch, looks down upon the face of S. John from the other side of the Area, and near him stands an old man, his hands clasped in prayer and his eyes raised to heaven. In these works we find sentiment, simplicity, purity of design, and great elegance of drapery, combined with a technical perfection hardly ever surpassed, while the single allegorical figures show the all-pervading influence of Giotto, from whom Andrea learned to use the mythical and spiritual elements of German art, as Giovanni Pisano had used the fantastic and dramatic. When they were completed and set up in the doorway of the Baptistery, now occupied by Ghiberti’s Gates of Paradise, all Florence crowded to see them; and the Signory, who never quitted the Palazzo Vecchio in a body except on the most solemn occasions, came in state to applaud the artist, and to confer upon him the dignity of citizenship.

Charles Perkins, Tuscan Sculptors, vol. 1, pp. 65–66.

Lorenzo Ghiberti, North Gate, 1403-24

The northern gate is the result of that famous competition which opened the Quattro-cento. It was assigned to Lorenzo Ghiberti in 1403, and he had with him his stepfather, Bartolo di Michele, and other assistants (including, possibly, Donatello). It was finished and set up, gilded, in April 1424, at the main entry between the two porphyry columns opposite the Duomo, whence Andrea Pisano’s gate was removed. It will be observed that each new gate was first put in this place of honour, and then translated to make room for its better. The plan of Ghiberti’s is similar to that of Andrea’s gate—in fact, it is his style of work brought to its ultimate perfection. Twenty-eight reliefs represent scenes from the New Testament, from the Annunciation to the Descent of the Holy Spirit; while in eight lower compartments are the four Evangelists and the four great Latin doctors. The scene of the Temptation of the Saviour is particularly striking, and the figure of the Evangelist, John, the Eagle of Christ, has the utmost grandeur. Over the door are three finely modelled figures, representing S. John the Baptist disputing with a Levite and a Pharisee—or perhaps the Baptist between two prophets—by Giovanni Francesco Rustici (1506–1511), a pupil of Verocchio, who appears to have been influenced by Leonardo da Vinci.

Edmund G. Gardner, Story of Florence, pp. 255–56.

Lorenzo Ghiberti, East Gate, 1425-52

“In modelling these reliefs,” says Ghiberti, in his second Commentary, “I strove to imitate Nature to the utmost, and by investigating her methods of work to see how nearly I could approach her. I sought to understand how forms strike upon the eye, and how the theoretic part of sculptural and pictorial art should be managed. Working with the utmost diligence and care, I introduced into some of my compositions as many as a hundred figures, which I modelled upon different planes, so that those nearest the eye might appear larger, and those more remote smaller in proportion.”

Lorenzo Ghiberti, 2^nd Commentary.

The work lasted forty years, says Vasari, that is to say one year less than Masaccio had lived, one year more than Raphael was to live. Lorenzo, who had begun it full of youth and strength, finished it old and bent. His portrait is that of that bald old man who, when the door is closed, stands in the ornament in the middle; A whole artist’s life had passed in sweat, and had fallen drop by drop on this bronze!

Alexandre Dumas, Une année à Florence, p. 219.

Donatello, Mary Magdalene, c. 1457 (detail) (sig photo)

Donatello, Mary Magdalene, c. 1457 (photo via Wikimedia Commons)

Donatello wanted it to be a mirror to penitents, not an incitement to the greed of looks, as happened to other artists.

Leopoldo Cicognara, Storia della Scultura, vol. 2, p. 44.

[The] figure of Santa Maria Maddalena, executed in wood,…is extremely beautiful and admirably finished: the penitent is seen consumed and exhausted by her rigid fastings and abstinence, insomuch that every part exhibits the perfection of an anatomical study, most accurately represented in all its parts.

Giorgio Vasari, Lives, Trans. Foster, vol. 1, p. 472.

Michelangelo, Pieta, c. 1550 (photo Opera S.M. del Fiore)

This is a group of four figures of more than life-size, namely, a Christ taken down from the cross, supported in death by his Mother, whose arms, breast, and knee appear to glide beneath his body in a wonderfully beautiful attitude: and for this purpose she is aided from above by Nicodemus, who, standing firm on his feet, sustains the body under the arms, showing great vigour and strength: and on the left side by one of the Maries, who, although filled with grief, nevertheless does not fail in giving that aid which the Mother, through her extreme sorrow, is unable to render. Christ falls lifeless with all his limbs relaxed, but in an attitude very different from that which Michelangelo designed for the Marchioness of Pescara, and from that of the Madonna della Febbre. It would be impossible to describe the beautiful expression of love that is seen in the grieved and mournful countenances of all, but especially of the sorrowing Mother: therefore let this suffice. It is without doubt a masterpiece, and one of the most difficult works which, up to the present, he has accomplished: chiefly because ail the figures are seen distinctly, nor are the garments of one blended with the garments of another….His intention is to give this Pietà to some church, and to be buried at the foot of the altar over which it will be placed.

Ascanio Condivi, Life of Michelangelo, pp. 62–63.

Michelagnolo [sic.] worked for his amusement; almost every day at the group of four figures, of which we have before made mention; but he broke up the block at last, either because it was found to have numerous veins, was excessively hard, and often caused the chisel to strike fire, or because the judgment of this artist was so severe, that he could never content himself with anything that he did, a truth of which there is proof in the fact that few of his works, undertaken in manhood, were ever completed; those entirely finished having been the productions of his youth…. And the reason of this is obvious, he had proceeded to such an extent of knowledge in art, that the very slightest error could not exist in any figure, without his immediate discovery thereof; but having found such after the work had been given to view, he would never attempt to correct it, and would commence some other production, believing that the like failure would not happen again; this then was, as he often declared, the cause wherefore the number of pictures and statues finished by his hand was so small.

When he had broken the Pietà, as related above, he gave it to Francesco Bandini, and this happened about the time when the Florentine sculptor, Tiberio Calcagni…inquired, after a long discussion, wherefore he had destroyed so admirable a performance? to this our artist replied, that he had been moved thereto by the importunities of Urbino; his servant, who was daily entreating him to finish that work: there had besides been a piece broken off the arm of the Madonna; and these things, with a vein which had appeared in the marble and had caused him infinite trouble, had deprived him of patience, insomuch that he not only broke the group, but would have dashed it to pieces, if his servant Antonio had not advised him to refrain, and to give it to some one even as it was.

Giorgio Vasari, Lives, Trans. Foster, vol. 5, pp. 312–13.

Of representations of human art under heavenly guidance, the series of bas-reliefs which stud the base of this Tower of Giotto must be held certainly the chief in Europe. . . . Read but these inlaid jewels of Giotto’s once with patient following, and your hour’s study will give you strength for all your life.

John Ruskin, Mornings in Florence, pp. 160–61.

Donato executed four figures [for the campanile], each five braccia high, two of which are portraits from the life, one of Francesco Soderini when a youth, the other of Giovanni di Barduccio Cherichini, now called the Zuccone [pumpkin head]. The latter is considered the most extraordinary and most beautiful work ever produced by Donatello, who, when he intended to affirm a thing in a manner that should preclude all doubt, would say, “By the faith that I place in my Zuccone.” And while he was working on this statue he would frequently exclaim, while looking at it, “Speak then! why wilt thou not speak?”

Giorgio Vasari, Lives, Trans. Blashfield, vol. 1, p. 341.

They represent a band of youths, dancing, playing upon musical instruments, and singing; the expression in each chorister’s face is so true to the nature of his voice that we can hear the shrill treble, the rich contralto, the luscious tenor, and the sonorous bass of their quartette.

Charles Perkins, Tuscan Sculptors, vol. 1, p.  193.

These happy children, standing or sitting in careless ease with their varied instruments in their hands, these fair-faced boys and maidens, blowing long trumpets, sounding their harp and lyre, and clashing their cymbals as they go, singing all the while for gladness of heart, breathe the very spirit of music. Not a detail is left out, not a touch forgotten. We see the motion of their hands beating time as they bend over each other’s shoulders to read the notes, the rhythmic measure of their feet as they circle hand in hand to the tune of their own music, the very swelling of their throats as, with heads thrown back and parted lips, they pour forth their whole soul in song. Never was the innocent beauty, the unconscious grace, of childhood, more perfectly rendered than in these lovely bands of curly-headed children thrilled through and through with the power and the joy of their melody.

Church Quarterly Review, Oct. 1885.

Donatello, Cantoria, 1431-39 (photo via Web Gallery of Art)

[T]hose figures, so boldly sketched as we have before said, that in looking at them one almost believes them really to live and move. It may indeed be truly said of this master, that he effected as much by the superiority of his judgment as by the skill of his hand; seeing that many works are produced which appear very beautiful in the work-rooms where they are executed, but which, when taken thence and placed in another situation, in a different light or higher position, present a much changed aspect, and turn out to be the reverse of what they appeared. Donato, on the contrary, treated his figures in such a manner, that while in the rooms where they were executed they did not produce one-half the effect which he had in fact secured to them, and which they exhibited when placed in the positions for which they had been calculated.

Giorgio Vasari, Lives, Trans. Blashfield, vol. 1, pp. 311–12.